


Hurt Somebody

by treaddelicately



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort/Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Joffrey Baratheon is His Own Warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:27:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23939881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treaddelicately/pseuds/treaddelicately
Summary: Arya has bounced in and out of King's Landing, and Gendry's life, for years. When one of her visits ends in chaos, she comes to Gendry for help getting out of the city, but this time he's not letting her leave alone.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Comments: 154
Kudos: 225





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As with all of my fics, what we have here is self-indulgent nonsense because all I wanted was mechanic!Gendry going on the run with Arya. This is the result.
> 
> There's some referenced abuse in this fic because... well, Joffrey happens. Nothing is discussed in overt detail but I want it to be clear that Sansa was abused and it will be discussed multiple times. Also, a murder happens, but it's off-page and again, not described in any sort of detail whatsoever.
> 
> A huge, huge thank you to BoudicaMuse, who beta'd and helped me whittle this thing down from a monster into the four-chapter beauty that it's become. Her insight is delightful and I never would have written anything for this pairing without her encouragement. 
> 
> And a thank you to Dresupi, who listens to me flail about Gendry way more than any human should have to, and who also provided beta work for this chapter. xoxo

At first, Gendry was convinced that it was a dream that had woken him, his heart pounding and chest heaving in the darkness. Silence blanketed his flat and went on for long enough that he laid his head back down on the pillow, but then the clinking of glass jars in the kitchen sent his heart rate through the roof again. Not a dream after all.

Blinking sleep from his eyes, he rolled out of bed to grab the sledgehammer he kept propped by his bedroom door and went to investigate. Break-ins were common in Flea Bottom and he’d had to beat off more than one idiot kid who thought they had a right to steal whatever he had. Sometimes he just gave it to them if they looked worse off than he was.

He needn’t have worried. Tonight it wasn’t anyone planning to rob him, just Arya rifling through his fridge.

“Haven’t you got anything without mold on it in here?” 

She didn’t even bother to look at him, bent at the waist with her jumper riding up and exposing the entirety of her lower back. Gendry set the hammer on the counter and clenched his fingers, resisting the urge to tug the fabric back down just so he could feel her skin.

“That’s all you’ve got to say? It’s the middle of the night, Arya.” He frowned. “How did you even get in?”

Arya straightened up and shut the fridge, dousing them in darkness. 

“Fire escape. Your bathroom window doesn’t latch properly.”

Making a mental note to fix that immediately, Gendry looked her over as his eyes adjusted to the moonlight illuminating the space. Her hair was wet and tucked behind her ears like she’d just gotten out of a shower. Her jumper was riding up again, one of those silly cropped ones like her sister always wore. In fact, the longer he looked at it, the more he was convinced that it might actually be Sansa’s.

“You could have called,” he complained, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms. “I didn’t even know you were in town.”

Not that she ever really announced when she was coming. He wasn’t sure if it was to ambush him or Sansa, but she blew into King’s Landing every few months and left just as quickly each time. To travel the world and take photos along the way. Some she sold to travel blogs and magazines and some she sent him in texts, captioned like postcards. 

_Pentos is gorgeous this time of year._

_Going sailing by Sunspear!!!_

_Everyone near the Wall is almost as broody as you._

"I’m not staying, I just wanted some food for the road,” she said inexplicably. “And I need a car.”

Gendry blinked at her. “What’s wrong with your car? Wait, where are you going?”

“I can’t tell you. I just need you to get me a car. Can you do that?”

He wasn’t awake enough for this. He was used to Arya bursting in and out of his life at will. Dancing around him, sometimes _with_ him, but the rhythm was always wrong. This felt different. Her generally calm exterior was vibrating with something he couldn’t put his finger on. Nerves, anticipation. Fear.

“Of course I can,” he said. “But not until you tell me what’s happened.”

Arya’s arms crossed and her expression shifted into stony determination. The same look she gave anyone who discounted her because of her size, anyone who tried to tell her what to do. He wondered briefly if it was a reflex at this point.

“There’s nothing to tell. I just need to leave.”

“You’ll be finding a different way, then. I’m not nicking a car from Mott’s unless you tell me why.”

He expected a glare, but not the sudden desperate look she gave him. “If you won’t help me, I’ll go to the Wildlings. Maybe Tormund will lend me his bike.”

Gendry thought of her driving off into the night on a motorcycle, reckless as all hell, and made a noise of disapproval. “No. No way, Arya. Just tell me.”

She shook her head stubbornly. “I’m not involving you in this.”

“You coming here is involving me!” He stepped close to put his hands on her shoulders, anchoring her in place. “Tell me why you need a car. Why you’re wearing Sansa’s clothes.”

“I stabbed Joffrey Baratheon.”

Surprise rocketed through his body and he waited for her to laugh, to take it back, but she just stared at him.

“Tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m not.” So matter-of-fact, detached. “He’s dead.”

“What happened?” Gendry demanded, his fingers digging into the soft pink knit of her borrowed shirt. “Where is Sansa?”

“I don’t know,” she spat. “She wouldn’t come with me. I tried, but apparently Joffrey’s still more important to her.”

She wasn’t lying. The nerves, the desperation to get out of town… every bit of it made sense now. Because if she’d killed Joffrey Baratheon, then it wasn’t just that she was going to be wanted for murder. The Lannisters would have her hunted down before the police could get their hands on her. And once they found her, they’d kill her. 

“Gendry, please.” Arya gripped his wrists in her hands. Her voice was soft like water lapping at the shore, covering up his protests and drowning out any reasons why he shouldn’t get involved. “I can’t make Sansa go. But I have to get out of here. I just need a car.”

Instinctively, he let go of her shoulders to cup her face in his hands instead. Arya’s eyes darted back and forth wildly like an animal caught in a trap, looking for an escape. He stroked her cheeks with his thumbs and she calmed slightly, eyelids fluttering shut with a sigh.

She was just so fucking small. Stronger than she looked, but not indestructible. Still vulnerable to every threat headed her way and reckless enough to think she could do it on her own. No way was he going to let that happen.

“Yeah, alright.” His own voice sounded strange and rough in the darkness. “Let me get dressed and we can go.”

He started to release her but her hands tightened around his wrists, anchoring him in place. Then she let go and moved forward so quickly he barely had time to react, clasping her hands around his head to pull him down so their foreheads were touching.

“Thank you,” she murmured. Gods, it would be so easy to kiss her.

Instead, Gendry covered one of her hands with his and turned his face into her touch. His nose slid along her palm and then he planted a gentle, lingering kiss at the soft skin on the inside of her wrist.

“Don’t thank me just yet,” he said. “We have to get you out of town first.”

* * *

As expected, Arya argued with him from the moment she saw the backpack slung over his shoulder.

“What’s all this?”

“My stuff,” Gendry replied, separating his bike keys from the rest of the ring so he could lock up. No sense in taking his bike to the garage. It was only four blocks and the noise was just likely to attract attention. “I’m coming with you.”

Arya made an indignant noise. “Like hells you are!”

“I’m the only chance you have to get a set of keys from Mott’s, so unless you’ve learned to hotwire during all your travels…”

“You’re not coming!”

And on and on it went, though in more hushed tones on the quiet streets. Gendry ignored all of her protests and focused on getting them to the garage without being spotted. The floodlights had been broken for months and Mott was too lazy and cheap to fix them, so they were still shrouded in darkness when he unlocked the office and pulled her inside.

There weren’t many great options on the lot at the moment, with all the junkers that populated Flea Bottom and ran through Mott’s regularly, but there was an inconspicuous SUV that would be able to get them out of town. At least far enough for now. Gendry grabbed the right set of keys from the pegboard and turned to face Arya, only to jump back when she swiped at him.

“Give me the keys,” she huffed, holding out her hand. “I can do this on my own.”

“Not a fucking chance. You wanted my help? This is what you get. My help. All of it.”

“You’re just going to slow me down.”

Gendry snorted at that. “I’ve lived on the streets my entire life, Arya. Of the two of us, I think I know a hell of a lot more than you do about laying low.”

“But you’ve never left King’s Landing, have you?”

Her words had some bite to them, sinking deep into his chest and settling there as they stared at each other. She knew the answer to that question. She knew because he’d told her a long time ago. She’d also given him the chance to leave and he hadn’t taken it.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, dangling the keys over her head. “I’ve got the keys. I’m driving.”

Arya’s shoulders squared and Gendry recognized the dangerous look in her eye right before she jabbed him in the gut. He groaned and doubled over and she snatched the keys from his hand while he was distracted. By the time he caught his breath, she was already out on the lot and searching for the right vehicle.

He swore, barely remembering to shut the office door behind him as he chased after her.

“Arya, you’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m not turning you into a fugitive, too,” she shot back over her shoulder. 

Arya clicked the button on the keyfob again and the SUV’s headlights lit up in the corner of the lot. She took off like a shot, much faster than she had any right to be. Luckily, his legs were much longer than hers and he caught up with a few jogging strides. Just in time to slam the driver’s door shut when she pulled it open.

“You’re not turning me into anything.” 

He didn’t pin her to the car so much as put his arms on either side of her to box her in, but the effect was the same. Her chest heaved with her heavy breathing and Gendry could feel the warmth of her body through his shirt.

“You’re going to get in trouble too. They’ll know you’re with me.”

He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Someone’s got to keep you safe.”

“I can do it my—”

“Do it yourself, yes, I know. I know you can.” Gendry grabbed her hand and Arya let him, her resistance slipping away as he pried the keys from her fingers. “But you’re not. Not this time.”

“Fine!” Arya scowled, shoving at his chest. “It’s your life, you bloody idiot. You want to get yourself mixed in with all this, be my guest.”

He moved back when she shoved him again, exhaling through his nose as she disappeared around the other side of the car. There was a great possibility that he was making a mistake and helping her run from King’s Landing was going to ruin his life, she wasn’t wrong about that.

But she was wrong about getting himself mixed in. It was much, much too late for that. He’d thrown his lot in with Arya Stark a long time ago. Trouble just came with the territory.

* * *

“Don’t you want to know why?”

Gendry stopped slurping obnoxiously at his empty fountain drink and set it in the cupholder. His stomach was full from drinking it as fast as he could, but the caffeine was doing nothing to keep him awake. They were going to have to stop soon.

Just as well, too. The sun was about to come up.

“Why what?”

When he glanced over at Arya she fixed him with a look like he was stupid.

“Why I killed Joffrey,” she said.

It was just as jarring as the first time she’d said it, even though he’d been expecting it. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off and Gendry was fucking _exhausted_ , the gravity of the situation was starting to press in. 

“Because he was a smug prick who deserved it?” he answered tiredly.

Arya’s lips twitched and she leaned back against her seat, propping her feet up on the dash. The flicker of a smile faded until her face was nothing but hard lines again after a moment.

“There were bruises on her wrists this time. Like he’d been grabbing her all the time, holding her down or something.”

Guilt curled around Gendry’s heart and made itself nice and comfortable. Snug like a vise, clenching tighter each time he tried to breathe.

“I got in late. I was supposed to have dinner with them and Sansa apparently fed him some line about traffic… I dunno, by the time I got there he was already in a rage. Twitchy. She spilled some wine on the table and he went after her,” she continued, sounding far away. Reliving it, most likely. “So I got between them. He pulled a knife on me, but he was drunk and he dropped it, and…”

He reached across the car and cupped his palm around her knee.

“You protected Sansa.”

Arya snorted and shoved his hand away. “I didn’t do shit. She’s still Joffrey’s, even if he is dead. She screamed at me, called me stupid. The way she was crying over his body, you’d think he’d never laid a finger on her.”

“They were engaged, Arya.”

“He beat the living shit out of her, Gendry,” she fired back. “For years.”

It wasn’t his place to feel guilty, not really. Sansa wasn’t his sister and they’d never done more than exchange a few awkward conversations over the past six years. Still, there was something about knowing he had been only a few miles away while Arya’s sister was being abused that made him feel like he was sitting on a pile of tacks.

“Not anymore, though.”

He tried to sound soothing, but touching her was out of the question. She’d curled into a ball on the passenger seat, her face all pinched and pained. He wanted to put his forehead to hers the way she had done in his kitchen and comfort her again.

“No,” she whispered. “He won’t ever touch her again.”

They both quieted as the sky opened up, orange painting over the purple and throwing everything into a new perspective. Even the seedy motel he found just off the Kingsroad didn’t look quite as menacing with the soft glow of the sunrise in the background. 

Arya stayed in the car while he secured them a room with some of the cash he’d taken from the hole in his boxspring. The room was around back, facing away from the main parking lot, which he didn’t like, but trying to bribe the clerk for a different room felt like it would draw more attention than anything.

It smelled like a moldy basement, likely because of the waterlogged ceiling tiles, and the singular bed in the middle of the room had a stained blanket stretched across it. Not any worse than any of the foster homes he’d bounced between as a teenager, but the memories still made him want to retch into the bucket collecting leaks from the ceiling.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” he told Arya when she sat on the bed to get her boots off.

She stopped unlacing long enough to fix him with yet another withering look.

“Don’t be stupid. The floor’s disgusting.”

“It’s a small bed.” He shrugged, tossing his bag onto the rickety dresser. “You need the rest. Wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“If you think after everything that’s happened tonight that I’m worried about you spooning me in my sleep, you’ve got a bigger head than I thought. Just take your fucking shoes off and get up here.”

There was no winning with her, was there? Push too far and she got pissed at him. Try to be fucking noble and she got mad, too. Where the hell was the middle ground?

Grumbling, Gendry toed off his boots and stretched out on the bed. It really was too small for the both of them but they managed it with both of them turned on their sides. With Arya facing away from him, he was dangerously close to spooning her like she’d mentioned, but he kept a few inches of space between them.

It was uncomfortable, though, and despite the exhaustion, they both kept shifting around and brushing up against each other. He heard Arya heave a sigh and she shoved her head roughly against the pillow, scooting forward until she was practically hanging off the bed to get some more distance. Gendry tried to ignore her and let the drowsy haze take over, but she wouldn’t stop _moving_.

He opened his mouth to tell her he was going to move to the floor, but then it hit. She wasn’t moving around, not really. She was shaking. All over, tremors rocking her tiny body. He would have thought she was sobbing if not for the fact that she was dead silent.

Instinct took over and without thinking, Gendry wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her back against him. Arya made a startled noise and tensed enough to make him brace for the impact of her elbow in his gut, but it never came. After a few seconds, she relaxed and melted into him. Her ass fit into the cradle of his hips and her arm rested over his, crisscrossed on her stomach with their fingers just barely touching.

Her shaking slowed and then stopped. Satisfied, Gendry rested his chin on the top of her head and gave her waist a gentle squeeze while the weariness crept in and started to drag him off to sleep.

Maybe she’d never let him hold her long enough to put her back together, but the least he could do was be a safe place for her to fall apart.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa! I'm a little bit blown away by the response to the first chapter of this fic. Thank you to everyone who left kudos and commented and subscribed. It was a really, really hard week for me and having the positive reinforcement helped a ton.
> 
> My usual thank yous to BoudicaMuse, whose beta work and cheerleading is always fantastic and appreciated.
> 
> And I have to drop some love on Dresupi, who also beta'd this chapter, sprinted with me just to keep me company so I could get it done, and whose partner helped me find a new laptop when mine up and died on me. My new one was delivered today and it's wonderful and shiny and I got so much writing done on it.
> 
> That all being said, I hope you enjoy! xoxo

The thin curtains hanging over the single window did nothing to prevent the afternoon sun from shining in and heating up the motel room to searing levels. Arya woke up sweating and choking on the hot, damp air and struggling to break the hold Gendry had on her waist. Somehow their spooning had turned into a tangled mess of limbs in the night and it took her several minutes to unstick herself from his body. He grunted and rolled over when she managed it, burying his sweat-soaked face into the pillow to go back to sleep.

Breathing in the bathroom was even more difficult between the smell and the heat, but a necessary evil to empty her bladder and splash some cold water on her face. She didn’t have a tie to get her hair off her neck, so she settled for tipping her head upside down under the bathtub faucet to cool off even more and get her head together.

Gendry was at the forefront of her mind while she toweled her hair from a sopping mess into something manageable. Stupid, stubborn, thick-headed idiot. No reason at all for him to be here, risking his arse for her. A car was all she’d asked for. Not a babysitter or a bodyguard or whatever he thought he was doing by sticking his neck out. 

She cast a look at his sprawled form when she came out of the bathroom to grab her backpack. The muted light coming through the shitty curtain left a pale yellow glow on the side of his face. Arya’s gaze wandered down to where his shirt had rucked up in his sleep, taking in the way the wrinkled fabric had left a pattern of indents on his side where he’d laid too long in one position. It was a scene begging to be photographed. Her fingers flexed subconsciously at her side for her camera until she remembered that it was gone.

Still at Sansa’s, with most of the shit she’d brought with her for a two-week visit. All she’d grabbed on her way out was her backpack. At least it had her cigarettes inside.

Her phone was nearly dead and blown up with notifications. Texts and calls from Sansa, Jon, and Robb, and a slew of voicemails to match. Her thumb hovered over the button to open the first but fear led her to power the whole thing off without looking at any of them. It was more likely than not that her location could be tracked via GPS and she wasn’t going to risk that for another minute. It was bad enough she’d left it on all night. 

The cigarettes were more useful. Arya lit one up and leaned on the wall, pushing the curtain aside to peer out the window while she sorted her thoughts out.

There was the initial surprise that she hadn’t woken up stifling her screams, drenched in phantom blood she couldn’t wash off like Lady Macbeth on a bender. The more smoke she inhaled, the clearer that became, though. She didn’t give a shit about Joffrey and would likely piss on his grave if given the opportunity. The act of stabbing him had been instinctual but intentional. There was no guilt to be had about ridding the world of that smug sack of shit.

Less surprising was her residual anger at Sansa.

Because as _responsible_ and _intelligent_ as the Stark parents thought their oldest daughter was, they still relied on their younger one to make sure her feet stayed on the ground.

Well, fuck that. She’d done her best to protect Sansa and the only repayment she’d gotten was a screaming match over Joffrey’s dead body and a guilt trip the size of Essos to match. No matter how much she’d tried to convince Sansa to leave with her, her sister had only dug her heels in. Whatever happened to her next wasn’t Arya’s fault. Foolish, selfish, childish prat deserved it.

A warm hand closed around her wrist and another wrenched her second cigarette from between her fingers. Arya scowled and tipped her chin up to see Gendry’s look of disgust while he stubbed it out on the windowsill.

“Same shitty habits, same old Arya. You can’t smoke in here.”

She raised both eyebrows at him. “You paid cash for the room, idiot. It’s not like they’re going to charge your bloody credit card. Besides, you’re the one who just burned the windowsill.”

“Nothing worse than what’s already there,” Gendry muttered, crossing his arms. “How long have you been awake?”

“Not long. You were suffocating me.”

Something flickered across his face, some emotion scrabbling for purchase before annoyance settled instead. 

“I told you I would sleep on the floor,” he said. “You bullied me into the bed.”

She didn’t have a good response to that, so instead, she pushed off the wall and headed over to rearrange everything in her backpack. No fucking clothes in there, either. They were going to have to make a stop somewhere for some essentials.

“We need a plan.” Gendry’s voice carried across the room. “I need to know where we’re going next, Arya.”

Arya shrugged. “Beats me. As far away from King’s Landing as possible.”

“That’s pretty fucking vague.”

“Yeah, well, this is the first time I’ve ever killed anyone. Take it easy on me.”

Suddenly Gendry was there with his hands on her shoulders, holding her in place the way he’d done in his kitchen just a few hours ago. His blue eyes bored into hers with a weight that did more to anchor her than his hands could ever manage.

“I don’t know, Gendry,” she said quietly. “I just have to go. Braavos, maybe. I’ll take a plane. Disappear.”

“You can’t take a plane to Braavos. They’ll flag your passport and arrest you right there.”

“So I’ll take a fucking boat! But I’m not staying here. I’m not going to some Westerosi prison where the Lannisters will have me tortured because I murdered their baby boy.”

The words tumbled out in a rush. When the worst of it was over and she could breathe again, the panic was back in full force. The all-consuming, mind-numbing panic of what might happen to her if she went to prison for this. 

“We need to go see Davos.”

Arya’s entire body stiffened at the suggestion. Surprise ran through her at the realization that it had taken him this long to bring it up and even more that she hadn’t considered he might. Of course he wanted her to go see Davos.

“I’m not involving him,” she told him, gripping his wrists to push his hands off her shoulders. “It’s bad enough you’re here. The less people I have to drag into this, the better.”

“You know he can help!” Gendry snatched her backpack away when she reached for it and the glare she sent him was returned ten-fold. “He was a cop! He knows how this shit works!”

“Exactly, he was a cop. I’m not putting him in that position.”

“You know he’ll help you, he would never rat. Come on, Arya, you know this was self-defense. Davos will tell you that, we’ll be able to—”

“It’s not happening, so just drop it!” she shouted. “We do this my way, or I’ll leave you here right now.”

He exhaled something between a laugh and a sigh and dropped her bag on the floor between them. 

“Fine. But it’s awful hard to do things your way when you don’t even have a plan.”

The thought came to Arya out of nowhere as she grabbed her bag and checked inside to make sure he hadn’t crushed anything important. Like her pack of gum or the random lens cap from her previous camera, or the cash she kept on hand for traveling. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Enough for passage on a boat.

“Maidenpool,” she said. “You can take me to Maidenpool. I’ll figure things out from there.”

Gendry sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. “Maidenpool. Right.”

He looked utterly exhausted. She didn’t feel guilty for it, since he’d brought this on himself, but her stomach clenched anyway. 

“You’re not coming with me. I can do this on my own.”

“Yeah, I know.” That blazing look was back in his eyes and the weight suddenly felt less like shackles holding her to the ground and more like a driving force, urging her towards _something_. “But I’m not letting you.”

* * *

The constant arguing slowed the further they got away from King’s Landing and at some point it stopped altogether. Right around the time Gendry stuck his foot in his mouth, actually. They stocked up on snacks at a locally owned gas station without cameras and found an out of the way consignment shop to grab Arya some clothes. The confusion set in when he saw the items she’d thrown into her bag.

“Aren’t you missing some things?” 

Arya arched her eyebrow in that infuriating way. “Like what?”

Gods, she was going to make him say it?

“You know, underthings.”

She laughed at him and he would have let any of the gods, old or new, strike him down to avoid the blush that crept up his neck. 

“You don’t buy knickers at a fucking consignment shop. I’ll just have to go commando for now.”

The mental image drilled its way into Gendry’s skull until he was pretty sure it was going to sit there permanently now. He was going to be eighty years old, frail on his deathbed, still thinking about Arya Stark’s pussy bare inside her secondhand leggings.

“Right,” he said, clearing his throat. “Right, right, makes sense.”

She was still laughing while he tucked his shoulders around his ears and sped out of the shop as fast as he could.

It seemed to break the tension. After that, they didn’t really argue anymore. Not about the important things.

Instead, they argued about Gendry’s preference of the classic rock radio station rather than the ska-punk nonsense that Arya demanded they listen to. 

“Who wants trumpets in a punk song?” he wondered loudly.

Arya was even louder, slapping her thighs in time with the hectic drum beat. “Who _doesn’t_?!”

They talked, too, but not about the incident or Sansa.

Gendry caught her up on all the happenings in Flea Bottom. Hot Pie’s bakery opening and then getting trashed two weeks later. The drugs that spread like a wildfire and turned even friendly faces into people he glared at when he passed now. All of it was mildly depressing, but there was an upside. No one was going to be that worked up about a car stolen from Mott’s. Even if it was clear that Gendry had taken it, he wouldn’t be the first person to jack a vehicle and high-tail it out of town. 

Not a single KLPD officer was going to waste their time tracking down a junker from Flea Bottom.

Arya caught him up, too. On her travels and the things she’d seen on her latest trip to Dorne. They both laughed so hard at her story about crabs on a nude beach that he had to pull over to wipe the tears from his eyes before they could keep going.

If he didn’t stop to think about it, it felt like a normal road trip. Like the way things could have been if he’d taken her up on her offer to travel with her when she left King’s Landing in the first place. The banter and the sun shining and Arya hanging her feet out the window until he told her to sit like a normal human and she told him to fuck off. The way it was supposed to be.

Except for their fugitive status and avoiding the news or anyone who could potentially recognize them. That wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind.

He still wasn’t comfortable letting her go in Maidenpool and the thought of climbing onto a boat to Essos didn’t exactly appeal, but Gendry was running out of options. She was just so damn stubborn. She couldn’t see the forest for the trees, couldn’t see that the whole thing might not be as damaging as she thought. It was _self-defense_ for crying out loud.

There was no use arguing with her now, though. All he could do was hope he could convince her before he had no choice but to follow her across the damn sea.

The downside to their junker from Mott’s, aside from all the obvious, was that it didn’t have cruise control. Gendry toughed it out for the entire afternoon but relented and let Arya drive when the ache in his ankle and calf shot past annoying into painful. She sat too close to the steering wheel and she insisted on her stupid ska music, but she wasn’t a terrible driver. She didn’t even speed.

Which was why it was such a surprise when the police car started tailing them.

Gendry didn’t say anything at first. He kept his eye on the side mirror and chewed on his thumbnail, silently willing the car to go around them. It didn’t.

“Fuck,” Arya muttered under her breath.

Her hands were tight on the wheel, knuckles white and lips pressed into a thin line. 

“Were you speeding?” he asked, even though he knew she hadn’t been.

“No, seven hells, I’m not stupid!”

It wasn’t quite panic in her voice, but there was still an edge. Enough to make him reach across the car and touch her leg to comfort her. Arya flinched but didn’t shove him away.

“It’s alright. You’re not doing anything wrong. The plates are valid, there’s no reason for them to pull us over.”

“Except that the car is stolen,” she reminded him dryly. “That seems like a pretty good reason.”

“I highly doubt anyone’s reported this piece of junk stolen.” 

Gendry squeezed her leg while he scanned the mirror again. The cop was closer now, too close for comfort. Was he trying to read the plates? Was the dispatcher telling him that the car was reported stolen? 

Neither of them said another word. Arya switched off the radio and suddenly the only sound in the car was the road noise. Any other time, Gendry might have fallen asleep to it. Now it was just the soundtrack to all of his adrenaline, his nerve endings lit up like fireworks in anticipation of the coming conflict.

The cop flipped his lights on and both of them stopped breathing. One second passed, then another, and then the car swerved around them and sped up to chase after the dark sedan four car lengths in front of them.

Gendry’s fingers squeezed tight around Arya’s thigh while they both exhaled.

“Pull over,” he told her. “The rest stop, just there. Pull over.”

For once in her life, Arya didn’t argue with him. She navigated them to the parking lot, put the car in park, and then promptly buried her face in her hands.

“Whoa, hey, hey. We’re alright.” 

He couldn’t quite get his voice to do the soothing thing he wanted it to do, but it didn’t matter because she shook her head and leaned away from him. She started to shake all over again the same way she’d done in the motel and Gendry heard her breathing coming in short gasps.

Not quite recovered himself but unwilling to let her suffer, he unbuckled and climbed out of the car to pop open the driver’s door. Arya’s shaking was getting worse and this time she _was_ crying, wet sobs bubbling up in her throat that she tried to muffle with her hands over her mouth. Gendry unbuckled her, too, and pulled her out of the car to get some fresh air in her lungs.

“Arya, look at me.” She refused to move her hands so he pried them gently away from her face, cupping her chin to tilt her head up. “What’s going on?”

Her eyes were wide and round, dark lashes wet from her tears. It struck him suddenly that he had never seen her cry before.

“I don’t know, I don’t know what I’m doing.” As though she’d read his mind, the sobbing stopped as quickly as it had started. But she was still shaking. “We could have been stopped. They could have… I mean, he was _right there_ , he could have pulled us over.”

“But he didn’t.” Gendry gripped her head firmly in his hands, holding her gaze. 

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Arya continued as though he’d never spoken. “I didn’t even bring clothes, I have no idea if I’ve got enough money for a boat ticket, and Sansa, I just left her there, Gendry…”

Her panic continued, pouring from her mouth in a steady stream while she trembled under his grip. At least she didn’t push him away this time, tolerating the way his hands smoothed down her neck and over her shoulders to grip her arms. By the time she’d finished talking, he’d pulled her in close and was hugging her to his chest. 

She pressed her face into his shirt and he stroked her hair until she calmed completely, her tremors subsiding to nothing but little twitches of her fingers against his chest. 

“It’ll be fine,” she said quietly. “I’ll be fine. It will work out.”

“Yeah. It will.” Gendry stepped back slightly and then swung his arm underneath her legs, lifting her up to carry her to the other side of the car. “That’s it, come on. In you go.”

Unsurprisingly, Arya was not happy about being carried bridal style and stuffed into the passenger seat. She smacked him repeatedly, including a harsh blow to the chest that made him wince.

“I’m not a doll!” She shoved at him while he buckled her in. “What are you doing?!”

Gendry made sure all her limbs were tucked in before shutting the door on her angry face. He headed around and took her place in the driver’s seat, turning the key to start the ignition. He’d let Arya have her chance to drive. Now it was his turn. They were going to do things his way.

“What I should have done in the first place,” he said. “We’re going to see Davos.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a very busy week with work and so! much! real life stuff happening, but I'm so grateful for all of your comments and kudos for the last two chapters. They've seriously kept me going in a tough time. 
> 
> Huge thanks to my wonderful and encouraging beta, BoudicaMuse. There was some slight rearranging of my outline, which is starting to become a pattern with my multi-chapter fics, but we worked through the speed bump and I hope you guys are happy with the result. Cause I am!
> 
> 'Nother quick shoutout to Dresupi, the sweet angel bb who gives me her precious time to sprint with me and is always down to talk GoT and peek at literally anything I want her to read. A saint among writers, y'all. <3
> 
> Enjoy! xoxo

The clock on the dash read somewhere around half three in the morning when Gendry turned the car onto Davos’ street. It was quiet, as expected for the time of night, but the lack of street lamps made for an eerie darkness that put him on edge until he saw the porch light on the familiar cobblestone house at the end of the drive.

Saying he’d never left King’s Landing wasn’t quite right. Flea Bottom had always been where he lived, but here in Dragonstone was a home away from the chaos. Or at least it had been since Davos had retired from the force and planted himself in a place that was, in his own words, close enough to the sea to smell like home but far enough away from Lannisters to roost comfortably. Gendry tried to visit him at least once every few months, but it had been a while.

Not long enough to keep Davos from answering his call, though. He was waiting for them. Gendry could see him parting the curtains in the sitting room window as he turned the car off.

“Arya,” he said quietly, unsure if she was asleep or still just pissed at him. She hadn’t moved much in the past few hours, her seat reclined and her back turned towards him for the majority of the drive. “We’re here.”

She sat bolt upright as though he’d shocked her, rubbing her eyes. “Yeah, alright.”

It still didn’t answer his question about whether she was angry with him or not, so he got out to get their bags. Arya appeared at his elbow and took her backpack from him.

“Hey.” He curled his hand around her elbow when she made to walk away. “He wants to help, alright? I wouldn’t bring you here if I didn’t trust him.”

She had that unreadable expression that he hated, the one that told him she was mentally rifling through emotions for one to cover her face like a molded mask. Before she could settle on one, he squeezed her elbow with the slightest pressure and leaned down close.

“Tell me you trust me.”

Whatever she’d expected him to say, it wasn’t that. He watched the surprise widen her eyes and then suddenly she just looked exhausted. Utterly swamped under the weight of everything she was carrying. He wanted to take it for her. He was strong enough for both of them, he was certain of that much.

“I trust you,” she whispered. “Now can we please just go inside before your dad has a heart attack?”

Gendry rolled his eyes and released her. “He’s not my dad.”

“Might as well be. Closest thing you’ve got.”

The thing was, she wasn’t wrong. Both of his parents were long gone, a deadbeat father he never knew who cut out before he was born and a cancer-stricken mother who’d died before he turned eight. The streets had been his family while he bounced from foster home to foster home until Davos had grabbed him by the scruff of the neck one rainy day. The old man had stopped him from running with shit crowds and given him something better to work for, even taught him how to work on cars until he’d ended up with the job at Mott’s garage.

He owed everything to Davos. He had shit to offer, though. Just more problems that needed solving.

Arya beat him to the door and he had to stand there awkwardly while Davos wrapped her in a hug. For all of her protests about coming to see him, she hugged the old man far longer than absolutely necessary. Gendry simply clucked his tongue and let them have their moment. They’d always liked each other and he had a strong suspicion that he reminded Arya of her father.

He was good at that. Being a replacement father for all the lost kids he collected and tried to help. Him, Arya, Jon, Shireen. They needed t-shirts or something. Honorary Seaworths.

“You going to just stand there all night and let in the damned mosquitoes?”

Gendry grinned and pulled the door shut, taking his turn to hug Davos and clap him on the back. “Sorry to ruin your beauty sleep.”

Davos snorted, shaking him roughly by the shoulders before letting go. “Beauty, yeah. That’s it. Go on, go put your things away, then we need to talk. You know where it’s at.”

The cottage was small but had a guest room with a bed that took up most of the space. Gendry showed Arya the way and dropped his own bag by the pull-out couch in the front room. There was little excuse for them to share a bed this time around and he wasn’t about to get his hopes up that he would get to hold her through another night.

They met up in the kitchen where Davos had put a kettle on the stove. It whistled right around the time Arya hoisted herself up on the counter and Gendry threw himself into a rickety chair at the table.

“Not that it’s not good to see you, lad,” Davos said as he poured them all cups of tea, “but do you have to bring a shitstorm with you wherever you go?”

Gendry rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish look. “To be fair, this time it’s not quite my mess.”

“No, it’s mine.” Arya set her tea aside and crossed her arms. “I didn’t want to bring you into this, Davos. I’m sorry.”

“No need to be sorry, girl. In fact, I’m glad you called. You’re right, it’s turned into a right mess,” Davos agreed. He sat across from Gendry and took a long sip from his mug before continuing. “Cersei’s been saying some cruel things about your sister. Calling for her head on national television.”

The warmth spreading in Gendry’s gut from the hot tea extinguished like a fire smothered in sand.

“What are you talking about?”

“They arrested her.” Arya caught on before he did, her voice quiet. “Sansa’s in jail, isn’t she?”

Davos looked between the two of them with his eyebrows up in his non-existent hairline. “You haven’t been watching the news?”

“Been a little busy running,” Gendry replied dryly.

“They haven’t arrested her,” Davos said with a sigh. “She’s only been detained, but they’re holding her for questioning.”

“And that’s been on the news? If they haven’t charged her with anything…”

“The son of the most powerful politician in Westeros was found stabbed to death in his own home, son. They found his fiancee with the murder weapon in her hand. What do you think happens next?”

Instead of answering, Gendry looked at Arya. Her face was all screwed up and pinched in concentration and her legs crossed at the ankles.

“She didn’t do it,” she said finally. “I did.”

Davos leaned back in his chair and held a hand out in a gesture that clearly said, _go on_.

She spilled everything, in even more detail than she’d told him. Arya had always been observant but the methodical way she talked about Joffrey’s arm coming towards her with a knife, the detached way she showed Davos on her own body where she’d plunged the knife into his stomach, edged Gendry past unease and straight into worry. 

She needed to process what was happening or she was going to end up shaking in his arms again. Not that he minded holding her, but he knew what it did to Arya to rely on someone else. Even if he glued her back together, she’d scrub herself raw with turpentine rather than stay that way. He supposed that was why he loved her. Stubborn girl.

When she was finished, Davos took another big breath.

“You need to go back to King’s Landing.”

“What?” Arya’s voice echoed through the small kitchen. “If I go back there, I’m dead!”

“Now, just hold on a minute. I’m not saying hand yourself right over to the Lannisters. I’m saying you need to go tell your side of things, Arya. Same way you just told me. He was trying to hurt you with a deadly weapon. That’s a clear-cut case of self-defense.”

She snorted. “I highly doubt Cersei is going to see it that way.”

“Maybe not.” Davos shrugged. “But she doesn’t run things, and neither does her husband. It’s the prosecutor who decides, and there’s a new CCP in King’s Landing. Real progressive fellow, from what I hear. He’ll have a hard time ignoring all those bruises on your sister. Gods know the papers have already picked it up.”

He was right and Gendry was thrilled that he was saying it, but Arya hardly looked convinced. Davos picked up on it as well because he turned towards her and when he spoke again, it was with that gruff fatherly concern that reminded Gendry of being reprimanded in dirty alleys as a teenager.

“You already look guilty because you ran,” he told Arya. “I spoke to Commissioner Selmy earlier, after you called. You know what he said? Sansa won’t even speak, except to say it was an accident and apologize. She’d rather let them intimidate her and threaten her than give you up. And if you don’t go corroborate her story? You’re leaving her to the lions, girl.”

It was harsh and Gendry had to fight back the urge to say something to smooth it over, to soften the blow, but it didn’t matter. Arya was already sliding off the counter with her jaw set in a tight line. He said her name under his breath but she was gone, the door to the guest room shutting with a firm _thunk_ that added an air of finality to the conversation.

He dropped his face to his hands and sighed. Not exactly according to plan, but when did anything ever go his way?

“And you,” Davos said, rounding on him. “After everything I’ve told you, you go and get yourself mixed in with all of this?”

Gendry didn’t even have the energy to look contrite. He just shrugged.

“She needed my help. You know I couldn’t let her do it alone.”

The look of parental concern was gone and Davos was back to being exasperated. “Yes, I know,” he sighed. “About time you stop being so bullheaded and talk to her about why, don’t you think?”

“How do you know I haven’t already—”

His building protests ground to a halt when Davos put up his hand, the one with the fingers gone down to the second knuckle. 

“I’ve been around a while, son, and I know that lovesick look when I see it. Now go on and talk to the lady.” He paused and narrowed his eyes. “And I do mean _talk_. The walls here are thin and I intend to get some more sleep, you hear me?”

Gendry heaved out a laugh and shoved away his cold tea. “Yeah, I hear you.”

The way things were going, he’d be lucky if Arya even let him in to talk at all.

* * *

All the air was hot and damp again. Arya struggled to take in a full breath and finally had to stop her pacing in the guest room to shove open the window and gulp in the cool breeze coming in from the sea. It was salty and burned her nose, but at least she wasn’t in danger of choking anymore.

She kept imagining her father’s face now, heard the words Davos had said in Ned’s voice, and it was the worst sort of wake-up call. The sort that made her doubt everything she’d been thinking about her sister. 

She’d always considered herself the stronger one. Poor, meek Sansa was doomed to a life of people-pleasing because she didn’t have the guts to put her middle finger up. Arya had thrown herself almost violently in the opposite direction, determined to plow through the fields of expectations that everyone held for her without fear.

And yet, here she was, running away like a coward while Sansa continued to take abuse from the Lannisters. Afraid.

The floorboards outside the door creaked just before the doorknob turned and Gendry gave her a little two-fingered wave from the doorway.

“Can I come in?”

“Don’t be daft,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Of course you can.”

There wasn’t really a room to cross but Arya’s gaze followed him the entire way to the bed, watched him sink into it and lean over to unlace his boots. Then, like he thought better of it, he sat up straight and patted the spot next to him. She moved without thinking to crawl onto the bed and scoot in close. 

“Davos?”

Gendry chuckled and the sound was like a balm soothing over her frayed nerves. “Went to bed. Told me to finish talking sense into you. As though I haven’t been trying for days.”

“Talking’s never been your strong suit,” Arya reminded him. He laughed again, making all the tension in her body loosen another fraction. 

“About what he said… you need to think about it. I mean, with leaving Sansa behind, and this whole crackpot scheme of yours, going to Braavos to hide out, I just think—”

“I want to go back to King’s Landing.”

Gendry stopped mid-sentence and stared at her with his mouth open. Arya smiled and reached over with two fingers under his chin, pushing his jaw shut. 

“Davos is right. I need to turn myself in. I mean, Gods only know if that whole self-defense thing is going to stick, but I’m not going to hide from the damned Lannisters. I’m not going to let them ruin my life. I won’t give Joffrey the satisfaction, the dead prick.”

She meant to drop her hand from his face but his hand gripped her wrist and held her there, the same way his eyes held her gaze. Pinned her down and dared her to squirm away. Not this time, though. She was done with running away. 

Their staring contest ended when Gendry blinked rapidly and grinned at her.

“Took you long enough,” he teased. “Had to go and turn us into fugitives to come to that conclusion, did you?”

Arya growled and twisted her hand in his grip. When he tightened his hold on her wrist, she socked him in the shoulder with her other hand.

“Bastard,” she said, but the words didn’t have any bite to them. Strange, how she was about to turn herself in for murder and she felt lighter than she had in days. Helium-filled and ready to float up to the ceiling with it.

“I’ll be lucky not to be arrested too, you know.” Gendry said conversationally, pulling her hand away from his face to play with her fingers. The calloused pad of his thumb stroked across her palm and Arya shivered. “For aiding and abetting.”

“No one asked you to come with me. You did that to yourself.” 

He shook his head, barely visible in the darkness. Neither of them had bothered to turn on the light.

“You knew I’d come with you, Arya. That’s why you came to my place.”

His thumb brushed over her skin again, tracing a line of fire across the place that was supposedly her life line. All of her travels and her family, hard-packed dirt and a camera clasped firmly in her hands, everything that made up everything she was. And there Gendry was, a rush of heat mixed into all of it. The steady presence that she searched for when everything else fell away.

Arya’s voice shook. “I came to you for a car.”

“No, you didn’t. You came because you knew I’d help you. It’s why you always come to me. You know I’m never going to tell you no.”

Heartache, or maybe it was just plain regret, bloomed from the words and echoed in Arya’s head. Gendry started to let go of her hand, taking away the heat gathered in her palm, and she grabbed on to make him stay. 

“But you did,” she whispered. “You told me no before. You could have come with me, years ago. You said no.”

“I made a mistake,” Gendry murmured back. He leaned in close enough that even in the dark, Arya could see his lips shape the words. “I should have said yes.”

It was the perfect opportunity to kiss him, so she did.

Except Gendry had the same thought and so they both leaned in at the same time, their mouths colliding with a bruising force. Undeterred, Arya grabbed the back of his head and shifted onto her knees to try again in a better position. He moved with her and this time when they kissed, it was just deep enough to make her toes curl without the added pain of their teeth clacking together.

It wasn’t so much one kiss as a thousand kisses lined up one behind the other, each one pulling a wire taut between Arya’s head and her gut. Gendry’s hands felt made of molten lava as they caressed her skin. First her cheek, and then her arms, and finally her stomach just underneath her shirt, burning her so slowly that it was nothing but numbing pleasure. She lost herself in it, climbing onto his lap to get as close as she could, soaking up every bit of warmth she could draw from his mouth and his hands and whatever else he wanted to give her.

When they broke apart, it was like surfacing from the sea. She’d been under too long and the salt was still in her lungs, but there was satisfaction in the exertion, too. Gendry breathed heavy against her cheek, his fingers combing through her hair while Arya wrapped her arms around him. 

Neither of them spoke. He finally toed his boots off and tipped them sideways, pulling the quilt up around both of them to combat the chill from the window she’d left open. For the second night in a row, Arya found herself starting to drift off to sleep in Gendry’s arms. This time she was facing him, though, and she watched his expression relax as his breathing started to even out.

“Gendry,” she whispered.

His hand brushed down her back and she felt his fingers curl in her shirt. Holding her in place, she realized. Was he that afraid she was going to leave again?

“Go to sleep, Arya,” he mumbled. “It’ll keep ‘til the morning.”

She wanted to tell him that it was already morning, that the sky outside was already beginning to turn pink in anticipation of the dawn, but he wouldn’t have heard her if she did. He had fallen asleep, his face slack and relaxed and slightly squashed against the pillow.

Arya sighed and slipped her hand up his chest, her fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt over his heart. He was right, after all. Neither of them were going anywhere just yet. It would keep until the morning.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something happened and I realized that I get REALLY long winded where smut is concerned, so the final chapter was split into two! This first half hopefully answers all of your questions about Arya's predicament. 
> 
> As always, thank you to BoudicaMuse for her fantastic cheerleading and beta work for this chapter. I really struggled wrapping all of this up and she helped work me through it, so I owe her big time.

The interrogation room was freezing. It occurred to Arya that it might be some sort of tactic, to make her uncomfortable enough to admit anything just to get out of the cold. Well, whoever had come up with that scheme was going to be sorely disappointed.

She was a Stark, after all. Cold wasn’t a nuisance, it was second nature. And besides, she’d already given her statement to Commissioner Selmy. There were no truths left to drag out of her.

It wasn’t like Arya had any idea about the inner workings of the King’s Landing Police Department operated, but she was pretty sure that it was unusual for a high-ranking officer to be the one to take her statement. But then, Joffrey wasn’t just _anyone_. She’d murdered the son of a prominent political figure. Robert Baratheon would insist on nothing less than the best for his dead brat. 

Regardless, Barristan Selmy hadn’t been anywhere near what she expected. He had a kind face and a gentle voice. The kind of man her father would have been, if he would have lived to be that age. Arya had told him every bit of the truth as calmly as she could manage and answered each of his questions with her hands clasped in her lap. 

Yes, Joffrey had been drinking. Yes, she had seen Sansa’s bruises. Yes, she’d feared for the safety of herself and her sister. No, she’d only meant to incapacitate him. 

“Did you harbor ill feelings towards Joffrey Baratheon? Before the night in question?” Selmy had asked.

“Yes,” Arya answered honestly. “But he was a cruel bastard and he hurt my sister. I think that gave me the right to hate him, don’t you?”

The Commissioner’s lips had twitched, just briefly, before he jotted down another note. And then it was over and he left her alone in the room with the mention that the prosecutor would be in to see her next.

She sat long enough that her legs started to go stiff. Impatiently, she stood to pace around the room and stretch out her limbs. The nerves had already had plenty of time to build themselves up, after all. She wasn’t anxious about her own fate anymore, just tired and hungry and worried about Sansa. The entire reason she’d come clean was to rescue her sister and no one had given her a single inkling about what was going on with her. The worry itched and kept her walking back and forth, throwing dirty looks at the door.

As though she’d summoned it with her mind, the door opened and a slender man with messy black hair and a chin-strap beard walked in carrying a folder. He smiled pleasantly, which was somehow enough to send Arya’s fight-or-flight response through the roof again.

“Miss Stark,” he said, extending his hand. “My name is Oberyn Martell. I’m the Chief Crown Prosecutor for King’s Landing.”

Arya hesitantly stepped forward to shake his hand. His suit was all black except for a shiny golden tie that matched the hoop earring in his left ear. The gold was off-putting in a way that made her stomach twist. It reminded her of Lannisters. Davos had said he was progressive, but in what way? Was he just someone else in Tywin Lannister’s pocket like the rest of the city?

“Please, have a seat.” He gestured to the chair she’d vacated and took his place across from her. Warily, Arya sat back down. 

Oberyn placed the folder on the table between them. Then he leaned back in his chair and put his arms behind his head.

“I spoke with Commissioner Selmy about your statement.”

“Sansa,” Arya interrupted. “Where’s Sansa?”

He smiled again, unnerving her further. She’d always had a good read on people, had prided herself on it over the years, but it was still unclear if Oberyn Martell was there to help or hurt her.

“Your sister is fine. As you requested, the officers informed her of your arrival. She gave a statement and has been released from custody. I believe your brother met her in the lobby.” He inclined his head. “Now, if you’ll let me continue?”

Everything collapsed into a single wave of relief, rushing through her and sending her nails digging into her knees. They’d let Sansa go. If that was the only good to come of running back to own up to her mistake, then so be it. Robb would take care of her. He’d get her home and away from the Lannisters. 

Placated, Arya nodded.

“As I was saying,” Oberyn went on, pushing back from the table to prop his feet up. “I went over your statement. And your sister’s. They matched perfectly, which tells me one of two things occurred. Either you concocted a lie before you fled your sister’s home that night—”

“We didn’t—” she began, but he held up a hand to stop her.

“Let me finish.” There was no malice in his tone, not even the command she would have expected from an authority figure. Just a gentle, amused reminder. “Either you came up with a perfect lie together, or you are telling the truth.”

He paused then, perhaps for dramatic effect, because his smile returned and he dropped his feet to lean across the table towards Arya. 

“Do you want to know what I believe?”

He was _enjoying_ this, she realized. Everything was fitting into place now. This prosecutor was all about the dramatics, wanted to put on a show. He wanted Arya hanging on his every word. 

“Well, yeah,” she said dryly, irritated with the whole thing. But maybe it was important to play his game, to give him the attention he wanted. Maybe it would make some kind of difference. “I’d say it’s pretty important. What you believe.”

Oberyn chuckled. “You would be correct. Luckily for you, Miss Stark, I believe you.”

A ringing started in Arya’s ears. “You do?”

“I do,” he repeated, flipping open the folder on the table. A stack of photos as large as regular sheets of paper were inside. The first one was a close up of Sansa’s face, her right eye swollen and purple. 

The ringing swelled to a roar, drowning out nearly everything else as Arya reached out to touch the photo with trembling fingers.

“That,” Oberyn said, all traces of amusement gone from his voice. “That is why I believe you.”

Underneath were more. Strategic snapshots of her sister’s arms patterned with blue marks, a few angles taken of a harsh red welt across her bare back as though she’d been struck with a belt. Arya made it all the way to a photo of Sansa’s scalp, a chunk of her beautiful red hair missing near the nape of her neck. Bile rose in her throat and she slammed the folder shut, unwilling to look at any more.

When she met the prosecutor’s eyes again, his jaw was clenched and his gaze was intense.

“Those photos were sent to my office this morning by a young lady named Margaery Tyrell, complete with date and time stamps. Your sister was keeping her own records of the abuse she suffered, it seems. Miss Tyrell has also agreed to come down and give a statement for us about her own experiences with Joffrey Baratheon.”

Arya swallowed hard, processing each new bit of information slowly to get rid of the churning in her gut. “So what does that mean?”

Oberyn’s lips curved again but his eyes were still boring into Arya’s.

“It means that the man you stabbed was a serial abuser who attacked you and your sister with a deadly weapon, Miss Stark. You defended yourself. That’s not a crime.” He picked up the folder and stood without warning. “Of course, we’ll still have to finish our investigation. I’ll have to ask that you stay in King’s Landing for a few more days until I receive Miss Tyrell’s statement and finish a truly monstrous pile of paperwork.”

“Okay,” Arya said thickly, her skin tingling with shock. Just as he grabbed the doorknob and made to leave, she called out, “They’re not going to like this.”

Oberyn stopped in the doorway and turned to look at her quizzically. 

“The Lannisters,” she explained. “If you don’t throw someone in prison for this, they’re going to lose their heads.” 

He grinned at that, looking genuinely pleased.

“You let me worry about the Lannisters. Take care of your sister, Arya Stark.”

And then he was gone, leaving her with the dizzying thought that she’d given him exactly what he wanted.

* * *

Even more disorienting was the bright afternoon sunlight when they released her, and Sansa’s smiling face as she met her at the front doors.

“What are you doing here?” Arya asked, her voice strangled with the force of her sister’s arms around her. “They said you left with Robb.”

Sansa hugged her tighter and after a few awkward seconds she lifted her arms to hug her back. 

“I did,” she sniffed. “But I wasn’t going to just leave you here.”

The guilt seized up her gut like she’d swallowed a handful of ice.

“You should have. I could have gotten a ride.” Arya drew in a breath when Sansa finally let go of her, crossing her arms over her chest. The hurt that crossed her sister’s face was so palpable that she sighed. “I didn’t mean… for Seven’s sake, Sansa, can we talk? Preferably not in front of the police station?”

Sansa smiled hopefully, tears shining in her eyes. “Milkshake?”

“Absolutely,” Arya replied, squinting to locate Sansa’s convertible in the parking lot. “Let’s get out of here.”

The diner where they’d always grabbed milkshakes and fries after class during their university days was packed as ever. Sansa’s red hair made it difficult for them to be incognito and after the scathing news coverage Davos had tipped her off about, Arya refused to subject either of them to stares from anyone in the high-backed booths. Once their shakes were paid for she steered Sansa out of the building and across the street to a park bench where they could talk in peace.

Between sips of peanut butter chocolate shake, she filled her in on the conversation with Oberyn.

“Marg sent him the photos,” Sansa whispered when Arya mentioned the folder. “I wasn’t sure if she would.”

“You had her taking photos?”

Sansa nodded, wiping strawberry residue from the corner of her mouth. “Whenever it got bad, I went to Marg.”

Anger rose up so quickly and violently that Arya nearly choked on her next words. “Why wouldn’t you go to the _police_?”

As soon as she said it, she knew the answer. Sansa looked down at her disdainfully, in that infuriating way she had, like she knew everything and Arya was just a stupid horse-faced idiot. 

“Why wouldn’t you call the police instead of stabbing him?” she said coolly.

Everything inside her was boiling, bubbling over with the force of her irritation. No one ever got under her skin the way Sansa did and after the stress of the last few days, she refused to sit through another guilt trip. 

“There wasn’t exactly time, since he was coming at me with a knife in his hand. He was going to kill us, Sansa. He was going to kill you.”

That seemed to get her attention, her mouth opening and closing as she prepped up another retort, but Arya wasn’t done.

“I can’t say that I’m sorry. I won’t. It was just going to keep happening, you were never going to leave him.”

Sansa was silent for a beat, her eyes on her cup as she swirled her straw around. 

“I was, though,” she said quietly. “I had money saved up. Stashed away. It’s been enough for months, but I was just… terrified. It’s why I had Marg taking the photos. I wanted to get a restraining order and run.”

The words threw the brakes on Arya’s anger and it came to a screeching halt. Any pissy comment she had left balled up in her throat uncomfortably, making her swallow hard to try and dislodge it. 

All her life, she’d assumed bravery looked a certain way. That it stood tall and talked loudly. Years and years of a skewed, outdated view colored with childish bias. Sometimes, it seemed, being brave meant gritting your teeth and holding on through an unbearable situation.

Maybe sometimes courage looked like red hair and pale skin patterned with bruises. It looked like the quiet fierceness of her sister, who had never once flinched when she was flung from one hell to another. Even now, Sansa stared at her with defiance in her eyes. With strength.

“I shouldn’t have left you behind.” Arya cleared her throat. “I should have been there when they took you in. It was my fault.”

Sansa smiled weakly. “Maybe. But if I’d listened to you about Joffrey in the first place, none of this would have ever happened.”

“This seems like a fantastic opportunity for me to rub it in your face.” They bumped shoulders and both laughed. “But I won’t.”

Everything eased between them then. It was with a companionable silence that they finished their milkshakes and watched the cars whizzing by on the busy street in front of them. Sansa’s phone chimed after a while and Arya could hear Robb’s familiar voice on the other end. 

“Yes, that’s fine. Yes, I’ve got her, we went to get milkshakes,” she said into the mouthpiece. “No, what? We don’t need escorts! Robb, we’re ten minutes from you and I have my mobile, I’m hardly helpless.”

Despite the irritation at Robb’s classic overprotective nature, Arya’s heart pumped just a little faster. It had been so long since she’d seen him, or Bran or Rickon, or even Theon. She’d even seen Jon more recently than the rest of her brothers, during her latest trip to Eastwatch. Just hearing her brother’s voice was enough to send a wave of homesickness through her so strongly that Arya’s stomach turned and she tossed the rest of her drink without finishing it.

“Honestly,” Sansa huffed, stuffing her phone into her pocket. “I’d nearly forgotten how irritating he can be. How I’m going to live with him, I’ll never know.”

Arya blinked. “You’re moving in with Robb?”

Her sister shrugged, a tightness at the corners of her eyes. “They’re not pursuing charges against me, so I’m free to leave. Most of my belongings are tied up in an active crime scene, but… I just want to go home.”

_Home_. That meant fierce winters and weirwood trees and the large three-story house she’d grown up in. It meant Robb, Bran, and Rickon, easier and longer visits with Jon, and being able to see her parents’ graves whenever she liked. Arya tucked her hair back from her face, letting the idea settle.

“What if you didn’t have to live with Robb?”

Sansa’s eyebrows flew up. “Where else am I going to go?”

“Home’s not... a bad idea,” Arya admitted slowly. “It’s probably time I come back for a while. Somebody’s got to keep you out of trouble and we both know it won’t be any of those idiots. We could get a place.”

“You want to live with me?” Her sister’s voice dripped incredulity. 

Arya couldn’t blame her, either. If anyone had asked her even four days ago if she wanted to live with Sansa, she’d have told them she’d rather have her arm chewed off by a direwolf. But that was before they’d committed capital murder together and Davos had dad-voiced her and Gendry had kissed her like she sated every hunger he’d ever had. 

She couldn’t go on pretending she was content with being alone.

“I don’t do laundry,” she said by way of an answer. “And you better not complain about the way I fill the dishwasher.”

Sansa laughed. “I’m not going to make any promises.”

With a roll of her eyes, Arya got to her feet and tugged Sansa up as well, being careful not to grip her wrist too tightly. The bruises there had faded to a dull yellow, but she’d been through enough pain. No sense adding to it. “Come on, we can talk about it on the way to Gendry’s.” 

“Oh?” Her sister smiled smugly as she dug her keys out. “Do we get to talk about why we’re going to Gendry’s?”

“Nope,” Arya replied, ignoring Sansa’s delighted look and watching for cars to cross the street and get away from the conversation. “Not in the slightest.”

“No, you brought it up, and if I’m taking you to see a hot mechanic that you’ve been will-they won’t-they-ing with for years, you can at least give me some dirty details! Oy, Arya, get back here!”

Not a chance. She loved Sansa, reluctantly could admit that she had a newfound respect for her, but the last thing she wanted to do was talk to her about her relationships. If she could call whatever she and Gendry were dancing around a _relationship_.

Whatever it was, it was time to have a talk with him, too.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> STOP. Chapters 4 and 5 were posted simultaneously, so if you haven't read chapter 4 yet, please go back and do that.
> 
> And now we've made it to the end! Here we bump up our rating to E, and Gendry and Arya have a conversation. Sort of.
> 
> One more thank you to BoudicaMuse, the lovely human who is my constant companion in writing and has been such a source of support for this story, especially considering it's not her main fandom. Don't know where I'd be without her.
> 
> Another thank you to Dresupi, who also provided beta work for this chapter and is just such a dang light in my life. She sprints with me, she lets me rant about my inability to write, and she lives in the GoT universe with me 24/7. Love her so much.
> 
> And thank all of you SO much for your wonderful comments, the kudos, and subscriptions. My first foray into the Gendrya fandom has been so fun and I'm looking forward to writing something for them again in the future. Until then, enjoy! xoxo

It wasn’t quite the longest day of Gendry’s life, but it was most certainly on the list. Leaving Arya at the police station was one thing, but then he’d had to take the stolen ( _borrowed_ ) car back to Mott’s, fully anticipating being thrown out on his ass and maybe arrested depending on the old man’s mood.

Turned out Mott was in an excellent mood.

“If I fired every lad who ran off for a bit of pussy, I’d have been out of business a long time ago,” he snorted, snatching the keys out of Gendry’s outstretched hand. Then he waved vaguely in the direction of the garage. “Go on, that Buick needs an oil change.”

Business as usual, then. A seven hour shift where he could do nothing but worry idly about Arya while his hands were busy fixing other people’s problems. By the time he scrubbed the oil out from under his fingernails and started to walk home, his nerves were completely shot. Not a single call or text from her all day. Had they arrested her, then? Was she sitting in a jail cell somewhere after he’d assured her over and over that she’d be alright?

Through the worry buzzing around in his head, Gendry could hear the television through the door even before he unlocked it. All the lights were on in his flat and Arya was stretched out on his couch, open take-out containers spread across the coffee table. Some ridiculous reality television show was playing, but she wasn’t watching it. She was looking at him.

“Hey,” she said. Like it was any other day. Any other visit.

Well, he damn well couldn’t pretend. He’d done enough of that for a lifetime.

“You’re not behind bars.”

Arya smiled. “No, I’m not.”

Everything weighed a thousand tons suddenly. The keys in his hand, the jacket around his shoulders, the boots cementing his feet to the floor. Gendry wanted to get rid of it. Shed it all and see how light he could make himself.

He started with the keys, hanging them up on the little hook by the door. “You want to tell me what happened?”

“There’s not a lot to tell.” She swung her legs around to plant her feet on the floor. “They’re not filing charges. It’s self-defense, like Davos said.”

His gut somersaulted at the news but he ignored it, focused instead on unzipping his jacket and getting rid of it. The relief should have been all-consuming. Arya wasn’t going to prison after all. She was safe and free and that was all that mattered. But the weight was still there, bizarrely. 

“Guess he was right about that prosecutor. Real progressive guy?”

She shrugged. “I guess so. I’m mostly just glad he didn’t lock me up.” 

He was still curious about what exactly had happened with the prosecutor, but more pressing was the fact that Arya was standing up and he was entirely too aware of her. He bent over to untie his boots and felt her coming closer but then hesitate, like she was waiting for him. Selfishly, he took his time unlacing and toeing out of them. Years, he’d waited for her. She could hold on a few moments longer.

By the time he drew himself up to full height again, Arya was within reach. She pressed her hands to his chest and Gendry drew in a breath before putting his own to her hips. It was nothing more than a gentle caress but then her fingers curled in his shirt and anchored them together more firmly. 

“I talked to Sansa, and—”

“Arya,” Gendry interrupted. “Are we in any immediate danger?”

She blinked, confusion burrowing a line between her eyebrows. “No?”

“Do you have anywhere you need to be in the next few hours?”

“No? Robb and Theon drove down to be with Sansa and help her pack. I wanted to be with you.”

Razor-sharp, her words cut away the rest of the heaviness around his heart. _Roots,_ he realized dimly. The ones he’d tried to plant in Flea Bottom, that he watered stubbornly even when nothing bloomed but regret. So much pain he’d put himself through, and for nothing but loyalty to a city that had never wanted him.

“You wanted to be with me,” he repeated slowly.

“Well, yeah,” Arya said as though it were obvious. “They’ve got Sansa handled. I’m all yours.”

He inhaled sharply. “Say that again.”

Maybe the roughness in his voice took her by surprise, or perhaps he’d just thoroughly confused her by stomping out her attempts at reasonable conversation, but Arya looked genuinely startled for a moment. Then awareness lit up in her eyes and she pressed herself close to him.

“They’ve got Sansa handled?”

He growled and gripped her hips tighter, his fingertips digging into the denim of her jeans. “Arya."

“Gendry.” Her smile was so genuine and playful that he wished he could keep it there forever, even wanted to ask her for her camera to capture the moment. “I’m all yours, alright?”

That was enough for him. Gendry didn’t waste another second, just cupped his hand around the back of her head, bending to crush his mouth against hers. It wiped the smile from her face, but the slant of her lips when she stood on her toes to meet him halfway was well worth it. 

He’d thought about the kiss at Davos’s nearly every minute since it happened. That one had been full of hesitation and nerves, the anxiety of standing on a ledge and not quite knowing whether there would be anything at the bottom to break the fall.

None of that was left now. Just clear intent as he cradled her head in his hands and kissed her again and again, sucking in the little noises she made when his tongue darted out to flick across her bottom lip. She started to pull away to say something but Gendry refused to be stopped by something as ridiculous as _talking_ right now, so he kissed over her jaw to her throat to feel her pulse against his lips.

“Horizontal would make this much more comfortable for both of us.” 

Arya sounded like she was trying for a casual suggestion but her voice shook, making Gendry smug. He sucked another kiss near her collarbone just for good measure and felt his cock twitch when she let out a quiet, strangled sound. 

“Gendry, come _on_.”

Alright, fine. Bed was more convenient anyway. Gendry swept her up into his arms bridal-style, the same way he’d stuffed her back into the car after they’d nearly been pulled over on the Kingsroad, to carry her back to his bedroom. This time Arya didn’t smack him, she just looped her arms around his neck, thank the gods. 

Closing the door wasn’t strictly necessary, but he kicked it shut anyway for the added layer of privacy and set Arya down on the bed. He grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled it over his head, tossing it aside only to find her trying to do the same with her own.

“Stop,” he said, so sharply that she actually did what he said. It was a little bit intoxicating, actually. Was that all it took to get her to listen to him for once? “Let me.”

The bed sank under his weight as Gendry climbed up, straddling her thighs with his knees pressed into the mattress. He could feel Arya watching him but his mind was consumed, his gaze intent on her body as he pulled the hem of her shirt up and worked it off of her. Right arm, left arm, over her head, and then there was nothing but skin and a plain black bra. That came off next and _gods_ , now there was just skin. Gorgeous and soft-looking, begging to be kissed and touched.

“Lay back.” Arya arched an eyebrow at him and leaned back on her hands, but Gendry shook his head. “All the way.”

This time she complied and when her back hit the mattress he leaned over her, continuing his assault on her neck from before. She was usually so quiet and careful about her words that in all of his fantasies, Arya was generally the same way. He’d thought about it so often that it wasn’t even a surprise that she was near-silent, but it was an irritation, and one he intended to remedy.

The first hint was the way her breathing hitched when his mouth closed over her nipple. Gendry swirled his tongue once and felt her fingers dig into his scalp, so he tried a second time and heard the stirrings of a moan in her chest. That was more like it. He concentrated his efforts on her chest, teasing one nipple with flicks of his tongue and rolling the other between his thumb and index finger and that seemed to do the trick because Arya squirmed beneath him and groaned. 

Her hands wouldn’t stop moving, though. They were all over, tangling into his hair and dragging down his back and clutching at his shoulders. As much as he appreciated all of it, it was really fucking distracting when all he wanted to do was make her cry out his name.

“Arya,” he muttered against her tit when she pulled his hair for a second time, “will you just let me?”

“You’re going too slow,” she replied, rolling her hips up to grind against his cock. Or she tried, anyway, but the height difference meant she was rubbing herself all over his stomach.

Regardless, Gendry bit back an agonized noise. It was close enough and he was already ridiculously hard. If she kept that up, there was going to be no point in getting his pants off soon. Which was not at all what he had in mind now that he finally had Arya in his bed.

“You’re just impatient.” He scraped his teeth over the hardened peak of her nipple. “I’m trying to savor, do you mind?”

She rocked against him again and dragged her nails across his shoulder blades, sending a rush of blood south so quickly that Gendry was nearly dizzy with it.

“I do, actually, so—”

He cut her off by lifting up and gathering her wrists in his hands, pinning them above her head. 

“ _Let me_.”

Arya stared up at him with her eyes all round and wide, but the desire in her expression was clear. She swallowed once and then nodded.

“Alright,” she agreed. “But you better make me come soon.”

Gendry chuckled and released her wrists. “That’s not going to be a problem.”

Her trousers went next, with a slight disappointment that somewhere since they’d arrived back in town, she’d managed to get herself a pair of underwear. Arya lifted her hips, the only remaining sign of her impatience since her arms were still stretched over her head, and he took the hint to work the damned things off and fling them carelessly behind him.

His eyes wandered from her ankles up towards her lifted chin, taking in every single inch of her with a sense of wonder. Unable to stop himself, he brushed his fingertips through the short hair covering her mound and down to her pussy lips, already slick with her arousal. By the time he finished looking her over and met her eyes again, Arya had drawn her bottom lip between her teeth.

“What?” he asked, pressing his middle finger into her.

She narrowed her eyes and wiggled her hips from side to side.

“I was just wondering if you were ever going to take your bloody pants off or not.”

He hummed, adding his index finger and twisting them slightly when her walls pulsed and squeezed around the digits. Exuding calm confidence was one thing, but internally, Gendry was losing his mind. She was just so damn _wet_.

“When I’m ready,” he finally managed to answer. 

Because it was Arya, she had to try and argue with him. He knew her well enough to know what was coming, though, so he curled his fingers up and pressed down on her clit firmly as a distraction. The breathy moan that escaped her lips was a pretty good deterrent to any more arguments, so he took it as a win.

Double win, actually, because she never quieted back down. He pulled sounds from her throat with ease, finding a rhythm between his wrist and her body where she was rocking against him. It was almost enough when she shuddered and clutched at the sheets the first time, but it still wasn’t quite what he wanted. 

The loud, explosive, “fuck, Gendry!” that she shouted when he sucked her clit between his lips? Yeah, that was what he wanted. 

He had to slow down when her thighs clamped around his head, but once she was over the sensitivity from the first orgasm he built her up to another. It didn’t take long, either, which did wonders for his ego. 

A little selfishly, Gendry started to trace the letters of his name against her clit with his tongue. He made it all the way to the ‘W’ in Waters when Arya’s legs started shaking and she buried her hands in his hair. Instead of stopping her, this time he groaned against her and spread his fingers wide just to feel the way the walls of her pussy clenched around them when he pushed her over.

When she stopped shaking, he lifted himself up and grinned. “Now I’m ready.”

Arya breathed out a laugh, making his grin even wider while he shucked off the rest of his clothes. The knowledge that he’d given her pleasure was completely intoxicating and now that smile was back on her face, intensifying the burning glow in his chest. It was a pain to look away from her for even a moment, beautiful as she was lying there, but a condom seemed like a necessity at this point if he wanted some relief for his aching cock.

Condom rolled on and patience officially gone, Gendry settled himself between her thighs. All the air left his lungs in a rush as he rocked into her, so quickly that he had to brace himself on his forearms to keep from collapsing on top of her entirely. Arya grabbed his head and dragged him down for a kiss and then he was lost to everything except her mouth and her pussy and her thighs clamped around his hips.

It wasn’t that he’d never had good sex before. It was just that being inside Arya, being _with_ her, was so much more.

Every heated press of his mouth to her skin, every time he slammed into her hard enough to make her eyes close, Gendry left another piece of himself with her. She’d always had more than her fair share but he couldn’t seem to stop. Not now when she was finally giving some of herself away, too.

Only giving everything he had was fucking exhausting and it was kind of giving him a cramp in his calf. His rhythm faltered and he slowed to a stop, panting into her collarbone while he flexed his toes.

“Spent already?” Arya teased, her nails digging into his lower back.

Gendry lifted his head to level an exasperated look at her. “I think I liked it better when you were quiet.”

She perked an eyebrow. “I can go back to that if you’d rather.”

“I don’t think you can,” he replied, rolling them over. It took some maneuvering but he leaned with his back against the headboard and situated Arya on his lap until she sank down on his cock with a satisfied sigh. “See? You’re already noisy. It’s adorable.”

The way she glared at him only made him laugh, but then she rolled her hips and it was all over. He’d had grand ideas of being able to touch every inch of her body in this position but it turned out that all he could do was band his arm around her waist and hold on while she rode him for all she was worth. 

Far too soon his stomach started to tighten. No way in any hell was he going to leave Arya high and dry, but she wasn’t giving him much choice. Desperately, he cupped one of her bouncing tits to bring it to his lips and gripped her waist tight to try and slow her movements some. 

“Let go,” she half-whined, struggling to break his hold. “I’m close, come _on_.”

Throwing up a silent prayer of thanks to the Seven, Gendry loosened his hold and somehow Arya managed to move even faster, her hips meeting his with a force that he worried for a moment would hurt her. _Too much_ , one side of him screamed while the other insisted _never enough_.

He came before she did, his vision going dark at the edges, but retained enough of himself to shove his hand between them and rub over her clit in a clumsy, desperate attempt to make sure she followed him. Through the haze of white-hot pleasure he heard Arya call his name and then she collapsed, sweaty and shivering on his chest.

“Please tell me,” he breathed when he finally gathered enough air and brain cells, “that you came.”

“Are you sure you want to know the answer to that?” Arya laughed at the disappointed look on his face. “You really are an idiot.”

Gendry huffed and lifted her up so he could go get rid of the condom. “See if I give you any more orgasms, Arya Stark.”

“Like you can help yourself.” She rolled her eyes but her smile was so big that he couldn’t resist kissing her to get a taste of it himself.

That was the way of things, after all. The push and pull, give and take, shifting of the load they both carried. It was about time they had enough happiness to share between them.

* * *

Eventually, they made their way back out to the couch to pick at the leftovers of the takeout Arya had ordered. Gendry stretched out on the broken-down couch and she sat between his legs with her back against his chest, nibbling on a stale fortune cookie.

“What you said earlier, what was that about?”

Arya snorted. “And you say I’m the vague one.”

“Gods, you’re annoying,” he sighed. “You said you talked to Sansa. Like it was something I needed to know.”

“Oh, that.” She crunched the other half of the fortune cookie in her mouth. “We’re moving back to Winterfell.”

Funny, how his insides could rearrange themselves so fast. His stomach took up residence near his kneecaps and his heart migrated to his throat, making it difficult to even form a sentence. Of course she was leaving. No amount of orgasms would ever be enough to make Arya Stark stay put.

“That makes sense,” he said into her hair, his voice jagged at the edges. “She’ll want to be close to your family, yeah? Your brothers.”

Arya made a noise of agreement but he couldn’t see her face. He needed to see her face. She’d said _we_.

“And you, you’ll want to look after her,” he continued. “Right?”

She let out an impatient sigh and twisted in his arms to face him. There were cookie crumbs in her hair and instinctively, Gendry reached out to brush them away.

“I want to get her settled at home. I think I owe it to her after everything.”

He could hardly begrudge her that, but it still stung. He was going to have to watch her leave. Again. Only this time, he’d be left with a memory of how it felt to be with her instead of just the wishful thinking behind every other visit. Somehow, that was worse.

“Sansa’s going to need you,” he agreed, twisting his fingers in a knot in her hair. “It’s good that you’re going with her.”

Arya’s lips curved up into a smile. “It’s not forever. I have a job to do, I still want to travel, so in a few months once things calm down… I’ll head out again.”

Gendry nodded, unsurprised. “Right.” 

She squinted at him for a long moment and he stared right back, trying to decipher precisely what was going on in her head. Then Arya sighed.

“You’re going to make me ask you again, aren’t you?”

“What?” The sudden vulnerability in her eyes shook him. “Ask me what?”

“For the love of… so pretty but so, so stupid,” she muttered. “The same thing I asked you when I graduated. The same bloody thing I’ve been trying to ask you for years.”

Everything shifted again and suddenly they weren’t on his couch anymore but sitting on a rooftop, six years back with a party going on in the flat below. Arya’s warm thigh was pressed to his and she was looking at him with the same wide eyes, a teasing smile on her face while she asked him to travel the world with her. Then he blinked and he was back in the present, looking into her eyes with his head spinning.

“When I leave Winterfell… d’you want to come with me? Leave all this shit,” she gestured around his flat, “behind for a while?”

“Arya.” Gendry breathed out her name, stretching the moment like taffy in a machine. 

Leaving meant abandoning everything he’d ever known. He’d known that the first time she asked and had let fear get the better of him. 

Not this time. 

“‘Bout time I see a bit more of the world, I suppose,” he said as casually as he could manage. “When you’re ready to go… you know where to find me.”

He didn’t even have time to process Arya’s reaction because then her arms were around his neck and she was kissing him. It was more teeth than anything because neither of them could stop smiling. 

He was going to have to watch her leave again, yeah. But this time with the promise that the next time she wandered back into his orbit, he'd be wandering on with her.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave a kudos if you've made it this far, and if you're feeling really generous, a comment is always appreciated. <3


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